


The Black Curse

by CarlieTheHufflepuff



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Faeries - Freeform, Good Draco Malfoy, James Potter Lives, Lily Evans Potter Lives, M/M, Regulus Black Lives, Sirius Black Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:27:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27764458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarlieTheHufflepuff/pseuds/CarlieTheHufflepuff
Summary: When Narcissa is pregnant with a fey child and Regulus Black is losing his loyalty to the Dark Lord, they devise a plan. Regulus flees to America with Draco.For a while, everything is fine. Until it isn’t.DO NOT COPY TO ANY OTHER WEBSITES.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 28
Kudos: 135





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first work, so please be kind. I hope you enjoy :) This is an ongoing work, so I will try to update as often as I can, hopefully at least once a week.

Regulus Black was sixteen when he was placed in the Dark Lord’s ranks. He was still a child when he was given the dark mark, a dark splatter on his arm that pledged his undying loyalty to a psychopath, a symbol that served to constantly remind him that he could never escape the Black legacy. He had never been brave like his brother, Sirius, who had escaped years ago. Sirius, who had left Regulus behind; not that Regulus blamed him, of course. 

Maybe things would have been different if Regulus had adopted Sirius’ extroverted nature; he could have made real friends, friends like his brother’s, who would always have his back. Things were not different, though. Regulus had never been bold enough to reach beyond his Slytherin housemates, most of whom would turn on him in a heartbeat if they knew how he truly felt about their lord. 

Regulus grew up hearing a constant stream of rants about half-breeds and mudbloods and half-bloods, and for a long time, he believed it. He never understood why his older brother denied that lifestyle so profusely, befriending a blood traitor and a poor half blood; for many years, the betrayal stung. How could Sirius be so firmly against his own family, against Regulus? 

Now Regulus understood. In the months since he graduated from Hogwarts he had learned more than he had learned in the seven years inside the castle. He had learned that the whole ‘movement’ that the Dark Lord was attempting to fuel was founded on hypocrisy, as the Dark Lord himself was a halfblood. He learned that blood status meant nothing. He learned that everything he was taught as a child was a lie. Worst of all, he learned that the Dark Lord’s plan was about more than purity—he learned that he had split his soul into pieces (how many, he did not know), horcruxes. Regulus learned that he wanted out more than anything.

Until Regulus could find a means of escape, he would have to mask his unfaithfulness; he was very skilled at masking his emotions and shielding his thoughts, as he grew up with a very temperamental mother who had even turned her anger on him, occasionally. He hid his feelings very well, but not enough.

Narcissa Malfoy was smarter than she let on. She had always been very observant, picking up on the slightest changes in behaviors around her. She had only grown more observant since she had married Lucius. She had to be; Lucius was not a nice man, and certainly not a nice husband. She had to read him very carefully to avoid his anger. There had once been an incident where she had made a remark when Lucius was in an especially bad mood, and Lucius broke her wrist. 

Needless to say, she could read people better than most. 

Most people would not have noticed a change in her little cousin’s demeanor, but she did. He seemed to shy away from the Dark Lord, usually finding excuses to escape from torturing the prisoners. She noticed the veiled anger in his eyes when he watched their leader, reminiscent of his estranged older brother. She noticed everything, and she said nothing.

Narcissa found out that she was pregnant in November of 1979. Most women would be elated, but Narcissa was terrified. They were in the middle of a war, and as much as Narcissa hated to admit it, she was fighting on the wrong side. She could not begin to imagine raising a baby in the same house that the Dark Lord occupied. And Lucius… Narcissa had little doubt that he would use a child as another outlet for his anger. She would not let her baby be raised by a bunch of blood thirsty death eaters who would ruin him. 

She would have to make a plan—a very dangerous plan that could kill her in the end, but at least her baby would be safe. 

At the beginning of her third trimester, her healer made a discovery that only made Narcissa’s plan more dire. Her baby boy possessed a gene long forgotten in the Black lineage, a curse placed on their family centuries ago after one of her great-great-great-great-great-great grandfathers broke a faerie’s heart. Her baby would not be a pure blood; he would be born a faerie, a shame to the Malfoy name. 

Lucius swore that he would ‘put down the mutt’ after Narcissa gave birth, promising to take care of their problem. Narcissa could only nod along with him, mumbling in agreeance. She knew that she would never let him get the chance.

That was when Narcissa approached Regulus, desperate for whatever she thought about him to be true.

She found him in the garden early one morning, contemplating the clouds. As she approached, she cast a strong silencing charm around them, drawing his attention away from the sky.

“Narcissa?” He had asked, eyebrows drawn together.

Narcissa decided to cut straight to the point, not knowing how much time they would have before someone would join them. “You’re no longer loyal to the Dark Lord.” Her words came out as a statement rather than a question.

Regulus’ eyes widened for a fraction of a second before a cool mask slipped over his face, expressionless, giving away nothing. He began to speak, but Narcissa cut him off.

“Save it. I know it is true. I have been watching you for months,” she paused as he opened his mouth again, giving him a stern look before continuing, “I do not exactly agree with him, either, but I have too many ties here to escape. You, on the other hand, could manage it. I have been sneaking money out of my vault for months, preparing to ask a huge favor from you. I need you to take my baby right after he is born. You need to run away, go into hiding, protect my son.”

Regulus’ face paled. “Are you serious?” He asked, his voice dropping low. “What would Lucius do to you? He surely would not accept you giving up his heir,” Regulus said.

“Remember the stories of the curse that was cast on the Black family line ages ago by a heartbroken faerie?” Regulus nodded. “The baby has the gene that appears whenever the curse is present. Lucius plans on killing him once he is born. He will be furious about me helping you escape, of course, but I can handle it as long as I know my son is safe. I’m begging you, please take him. Find a small town in muggle America and hide until this is over. Raise him, give him a life, please,” Narcissa begged, tears flowing down her pale cheeks.

Regulus stared at her in silence, his expressionless facade slipping. “You might be killed. Are you sure you want to do this?” He questioned, his voice taking on a soft, scared tone that Narcissa had never heard.

Narcissa nodded. “I would give anything for my boy to live, even if it means I will not be there to see it. He deserves a father who loves him, and you’re my only hope that he could have that.”

A silence passed in between them, and Narcissa stifled a sob. “Please,” she whispered.

Regulus tilted his chin towards the sky once more, taking a deep breath. “I will do it,” he promised Narcissa. “You said you have been gathering money from your vault? How much do you have? How will I convert it to muggle money?” He was full of questions and doubt. How would he do this? Could he do this?

“Andromeda’s husband is a muggle, so she has muggle money. I have slowly been transferring galleons to Andromeda’s Gringotts vault, and so far I have sent her almost 20,000 galleons. She has already converted most of it to American dollies or dollars, whatever they’re called, and she says it should be enough to last you at least two years if you budget wisely,” Narcissa explained, obviously well educated on this matter, having spent months formulating a plan.

“Andromeda is in on this? Why couldn’t you just send the baby to her?” 

“She knows the bare minimum, yes. The Death Eaters would find her easily, and she would become a huge target if she had him. I could not put her and her family in that much danger. You, on the other hand, are capable of picking everything up and leaving. I trust that you are capable of going completely incognito.” Narcissa took a deep breath, glancing around the grounds nervously. In a whisper, she said, “I am due on the twenty fifth of June, but I will be using a spell to induce my labor as early as I possibly can. The first day that Lucius is away in June, I will cast the spell to induce a quick labor. Immediately, I will sign the papers that transfer his guardianship to you and then I will remove my memory of where you are going and then you will take the memory and apparate to Andromeda’s with the baby. There, she will have the port key that I made, which is a tad illegal, but untraceable. It will take you to a town called Cannon Beach in Oregon. Find an inn to stay in until you can find an apartment, and change your name. We will discuss more another time. Lucius expects me for tea.”

With that, Narcissa was gone, and Regulus returned to staring at the sky, his thoughts running rampant.

**

Draco Leonis Black was born on June fifth in the early hours of the morning while Lucius Malfoy was away on a mission. 

Regulus sat on the chair beside Narcissa’s bed the entire time, his magically expanded trunk packed with all of his clothing and most precious belongings along with clothes and supplies for the baby, all shrunk in his pocket. 

Once the baby was born, Narcissa named him and then signed the papers transferring guardianship to Regulus immediately. The paper would immediately file itself at the ministry, and Lucius would be alerted of this predicament shortly. By the time he would come home, Regulus and Draco would be far gone, already finishing business at Andromeda’s, and Narcissa would not be able to recall where they were going, only that she told him to leave and that she had, indeed, signed the papers transferring guardianship.

The Dark Lord would die almost a year and a half later, when Peter Pettigrew revealed the location of the Potters. He would go to kill little Harry Potter, but Lily would sacrifice herself for Harry when he tries, which would deflect the curse back at Voldemort. The power behind the sacrifice saves both Lily and Harry, and the Potters live, while Peter Pettigrew gets caught and sent to Azkaban. 

Everything would be fine for a while. Regulus would spend his time working at a bookstore, never daring to leave the shelter of his little town despite knowing that the war had ended. He would change his name to Reggie Brooks, and he would keep his circle small, only making a few muggle friends. 

Draco would begin his schooling at Ilvermorny. He had been invited despite being a faerie, as it would not affect him or his students as long as he learned to control his magic. He would have a happy childhood where he would be loved endlessly by his father, whose world seemed to revolve around him.

For a while, everything would be fine.

But then it wasn’t.


	2. Chapter 2

Sirius Black thought Regulus Black was a coward who had gotten killed in the war. It was an easy assumption to make, considering he had last encountered his little brother years ago in a battle against Deatheaters years ago, and he hadn’t heard from him since. There was not a trial for Regulus Black, as there was no Regulus Black to be found. His little brother had gotten himself killed, and that was that. Life goes on, he tells himself.

The war took enough from Sirius—it nearly took James, Lily, his godson, and Remus, for Merlin’s sake! And if the war took Regulus, well, that was minuscule compared to everything else he almost lost. 

So, over a decade went by, and Sirius did not shed a single tear for his brother or only would think of him on very rare occasions. That is, of course, until he volunteers to help his only logical family member left clean out her attic.

“Merlin, Andy! How did you let it get so bad up here?” Sirius asked his cousin as he tugged on the string dangling over his head, turning on a flickery old bulb. “There has to be a billion boxes up here!” He exclaimed with a deep chuckle.

Remus finished climbing up the ladder and took a look around, quirking an eyebrow. “Somehow it still looks cleaner than your side of the bedroom, darling.”

Andromeda rolled her eyes at her cousin, ruffling up his hair as she walked by, stepping over boxes. “I really don’t doubt it, Lupin. He has always been a bit of a mess in every sense of the word,” she remarked, smirking at Sirius’ incredulous expression.

“Yet I still ended up being the best Black, in my humble, expert opinion,” Sirius said, “You’re a close second, don’t worry Andy.” He grinned broadly as Andromeda rolled her eyes yet again.

“Regulus did not turn out too bad! And Cissy secretly has a kind heart,” Andromeda admonished. 

Sirius’ let out a wild cackle. “I didn’t know you enjoyed dark humor too, Andy! Being six feet under is, I suppose, not too bad,” he joked, cracking a grin.

Andromeda furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “I understand that you don’t speak to Regulus very often, but it is a tad rude to joke about him being dead to you.” She spoke with a tinge of annoyance in her words. 

Remus raised his eyebrows, watching the exchange carefully. 

A crease formed between Sirius’ eyebrows. “Are you trying to make some sort of joke about being able to communicate with the dead?” He asked softly.

Andromeda’s eyes widened. Sirius genuinely seemed to think Regulus was dead. She was in for a very long talk; perhaps she should make some tea. “Forget cleaning the attic for now. I believe I need to put on the kettle.” She stood up, dusting off her jeans. 

Sirius stayed seated, staring at Andromeda inquisitively. His thoughts ran wild, and he could feel the beginnings of a headache forming. 

Remus walked over to him, pulling him out of his sitting position to follow Andromeda, who had already begun climbing down the ladder. “Come on, love,” he murmured, pushing Sirius gingerly.

Sirius grunted, regaining his footing. Frowning, he followed his cousin down the ladder.

She led them to the table in silence, gesturing for them to take a seat while she put on the kettle. She briefly left the room, leaving Sirius and Remus to their own devices for a few minutes. 

“I’m beginning to think that Reg is alive,” Sirius muttered, staring at his hands. The thought stung, and a selfish part of him thought that it would be better if Reg was dead, so then Sirius would not have to wonder what he did so wrong that prevented his own brother from writing to him to let him know he was still alive. 

Remus nodded, placing his hand over his husband’s on the table. 

Andromeda returned, carrying a large book underneath her arm as well as a stack of envelopes in her other hand. She placed the envelopes and the book on the table, eyeing Sirius with something akin to pity. She accioed a tin of biscuits from the cupboard and placed them in front of her frowning cousin. She pointed her wand at the kettle and began pouring three mugs of tea. The mugs hovered to the table, and Andromeda took a seat across from the couple, dreading the conversation they were about to have.

“I would like to start out with the fact that Regulus is alive and well,” she said, placing her hands on the thick book in front of her. Bitterly, she added, “though he will be wishing he wasn’t after the letter I’m going to write him tonight.”

Sirius stared forward, his face emotionless. “He writes to you, but he does not even bother to write to his own brother? He sounds like the same coward he always was,” he spat, glaring into his tea.

Remus winced, and Andromeda grimaced.

“While I have no clue why he never bothered to write to you, I know it is not because he is a coward. He has changed. He is nothing like the Regulus we grew up with,” she explained. She began to flip through the book while Sirius spoke.

“I can’t imagine that Regulus could have changed much. He is a spineless Death Eater; that will never change,” he said, his voice low.

Andromeda stopped flipping the pages, her face turning red. “You have every right to be furious about him never contacting you, but don’t you dare call him that,” she spat, thinly veiled fury blazing in her eyes.

Sirius seemed to flinch. It was very rare that his cousin actually got mad at him. 

Andromeda took this as a sign to continue. “I’m going to tell you a story—a very long story that I expect you to be quiet and listen to.” Sirius nodded. “It all started in 1979, when Narcissa found out she was pregnant,” she began.

“Narcissa has always been very observant, far more observant than most, especially when she is desperate for something. She did not want her baby to grow up surrounded by Death Eaters and an abusive father, so she started trying to find a way out. She knew that she would not be able to cut all of her ties, but she had begun to notice that Regulus was doubting You-Know-Who, and she figured that if anyone could go completely incognito, it would be Regulus. Then she learned that the baby was carrying the gene from the Black Curse, and Lucius swore that he would kill the baby whenever he was born, so Narcissa and Regulus started making a plan. Narcissa induced herself into an early labor and transferred guardianship of the baby to Regulus-.”

“Holy shit,” Sirius murmured.

“And then Regulus came here with the baby to get all of the money that Narcissa had sent me along with his port key. Now they live in America,” she finishes.

Sirius stared at her in disbelief. He is unsure if he is capable of speaking, and if he could speak, what would he say? He had just learned that his brother had not died a coward's death; rather, he had been against You-Know-Who and was a father suddenly.

“How did he escape trial?” Remus asked, breaking the silence. 

“He had a closed hearing, and he was pardoned. His only crime was that he had the mark, but he had received the mark when he was underage, so he was not charged with anything,” she explained. She began flipping through the book, searching for the most recent picture of Regulus and Draco that she had.

She paused, her lip quirking up as her finger landed on a picture of Regulus and Draco from Christmas. They wore matching ugly Christmas sweaters and reindeer antlers. 

Draco had begged his dad to let him get his septum pierced for Christmas and Regulus, who had trouble telling Draco no for anything, gave in almost immediately. Draco had also pierced his ears himself while he was at school, and he wore dangly silver earrings shaped like paper clips; briefly, Andromeda thought about how much he reminded her of her daughter, who had pierced her nose at school without bothering to ask her mother. His shockingly white hair had grown longer, sticking out some at the base of his neck and framing his face, which looked remarkably like Narcissa. He was officially taller than Regulus; he appeared much older than fourteen, and Andromeda belatedly thought that she would have to ask for an updated picture now that he had turned fifteen just a week ago.

Regulus had changed a lot in the years that had passed, as expected. He kept his hair cropped fairly short, though he had grown a well-trimmed beard. He watched Draco with fatherly adoration, a very genuine, un-Regulus smile gracing his lips. 

Their kneazle, which also wore a matching sweater, jumped into Regulus’ arms as the flash went off, causing picture-Draco to throw his head back in a laugh while Regulus’ smile widened. 

Andromeda turned the book to the couple across from her. 

Sirius grabbed the heavy book off of the table, staring at the large image in awe. “Reg actually looks happy,” he murmured. Regulus’ smile appeared to be contagious, as Sirius cracked a grin.

Remus moved his chair closer to Sirius to see the picture better. 

“Merlin, I can’t believe he raised a child that actually looks cool,” Sirius quipped, watching his newfound nephew throw his head back in laughter, his earring glittering from the flash. “What’s his name?”

Andromeda smiled. “His name is Draco, and he really is a gem. He writes to me usually once a month, and he writes Nymphadora even more frequently. He is quite the free spirit; in last month’s letter, he told me that he had given himself some sort of muggle tattoo at a party—a stick and poke, he called it,” Andromeda let out a giggle.

Sirius grinned, watching the picture as he listened to Andromeda tell story after story about his nephew and brother. He was shocked to find out that Regulus worked at a bookstore, of all places. For an hour, it was as though the war brewing around them did not exist. When Sirius and Remus returned home, they returned with a copy of the Christmas picture that Sirius immediately put in a frame on their fireplace mantel alongside the other pictures of his family.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a dark one! Warning: there is blood and burns, which may be a bit graphic to some!

Dear Regulus,

Frankly, I have no idea how to start this letter. Congrats! You’re alive! After 16 years I have finally learned that your sorry arse did not get killed back when You-Know-Who was running around. It would have been nice to know that my brother was not dead, but hey, when has our relationship ever been normal? 

But seriously (no pun intended), why in Merlin’s name did you never even send a bloody letter? I had to find out from Andromeda that you’re alive and well somewhere in America, and that you have a son! You didn’t even bother to tell me that you’re a dad! 

Even when you had your trial, you did not bother to stop by and say anything to me, which I find quite unbrotherly of you, you git.

I never thought I would live to see the day that Regulus Black would 1.) wear ugly Christmas sweaters with his son 2.) adopt a cat 3.) work 4.) genuinely smile. Also, how the hell did you grow a beard? 

Draco looks absolutely awesome. Who would have thought that you would raise such a cool guy; seriously, he pierced his own ears and plays guitar? Bloody wicked! 

We have a lot to catch up on, obviously, but now I must talk about a less happy subject.

Once Dumbledore found out that I was writing to you, he found it prudent for me to ask you a very difficult question. Would you consider joining the Order? I know that you went all the way to America to keep Draco safe and escape the war, and I know that it is wrong of me to ask you to give that up, but I need to ask. We are trying to recruit as many people as we can to defeat You-Know-Who, but it is difficult finding people we can trust. If you agree, we will have a safe place for you and Draco to stay, and Dumbledore has promised to allow Draco to enroll in Hogwarts for his sixth year.

I hope this letter finds you safely,

Sirius Black

Regulus read the letter four times before he put it down. Draco watched him inquisitively from across the table, his pale silver eyes flickering from the paper in his father’s shaking hands to his face. The envelope from the letter laying atop the table, and in unfamiliar handwriting, one word was written: Regulus. Very few people knew his father’s real name, and Draco had seen all of their handwriting on various occasions. This was a new one, and that intrigued (and frightened) Draco.

Draco knew that his father had fled to America the day Draco was born; he had run from the war, and now the war was raging again, so Draco feared for his father. He knew that his father’s betrayal would not be forgotten.

He took in his father’s pale, shaking hands. All of the color seemed to be washed from his face, and his eyes seemed glassy. “Are you okay, dad?” He asked, his voice loud in the silence of their humble kitchen.

His father’s grey eyes met his own, seemingly shocked out of his daze. “My brother wrote to me,” he said simply. 

Draco pursed his lips. He had not realized his dad had a brother. Most of his father’s family, aside from Andromeda, were rather despicable; he could only assume that his brother was the same based on his father’s shaken up reaction. A horrible realization washed over him.

“That means he knows where we live. Are we safe?” Draco asked anxiously. 

His father placed his head in his hands, nodding minutely. Seemingly reading Draco’s thoughts, he said, muffled, “My brother isn’t like any of my other family members. He was disowned before he had even graduated Hogwarts, and he fights for the Order of the Phoenix.”

Draco did not understand why his dad was acting the way he was if they were safe. He also did not understand why he had never heard anything about his uncle up until now.

“You’re upset, though. And why is this the first time that he has bothered to reach out to you?” Draco asked. Suddenly, a dark thought reached him, and he couldn’t help but voice it. “Is it because you’re raising a faerie?”

Regulus’ tore his hands away from his face, shaking his head. “No, no, if he was one of those people I would not have bothered to even open the letter, love. He thought I was dead. I have not spoken to him since he graduated Hogwarts, so he just assumed I was dead. I could never work myself up to write him; I thought I would always be that cowardly little Death Eater brother to him, but apparently not,” he explained, quick to put out Draco’s fears. He took a deep breath, his lip quivering slightly. “He wants me to join the Order.” His voice was feeble as he spoke.

Draco’s heart dropped at the thought of his father being put into that much danger. They were safe in their little cottage. His job at the bookstore was safe. America was so far away from the war, so sheltered.

“Well you will tell him to fuck right off, right?” Draco’s question sounded more like a statement, though he still waited for his father’s response.

Regulus was quiet for a few moments, and time seemed to slow as Draco anticipated his answer. “My brother is a very strong-willed man. I will tell him no, of course, but I doubt that that will be the end of it.”

Draco glared at the envelope on the table. “He can’t force you to fight,” he murmured, his voice full of emotion. “It would be too dangerous. I can’t lose you, dad,” he whispered, moving his eyes to his father’s face.

“Then Sirius will have to respect my words.”

Dear Sirius,

Fuck off. There is no way in hell that I will join the Order. My child is my first priority. I am all he has, and I can not willingly put myself at risk knowing how much it would break him if I died.

I apologize for not reaching out to you. I figured that you would not care whether your spineless little brother was dead or alive, and frankly, I decided that I did not have the time for the emotional turmoil I would undoubtedly go through if you responded to my letters the way I had predicted.

Yes, Draco is awesome. He may not think the same of you at the moment, as he does not appreciate your request for me to join the Order—in his words, “tell him to fuck right off”— but I’m sure he would appreciate the compliment nonetheless. 

So, as Draco said, fuck right off,

Regulus

It should have ended there. Sirius had not written any more letters to Regulus, so Draco had assumed that his father was wrong and that it was over. For the entire month of June, everything was fine and completely normal. Draco spent his days either at the bookstore with his father or simply roaming the center of town, occasionally lounging on the beach with a good book. 

Everything was about as average as summer life could get, until the first week of July. 

The day after the Fourth of July was the day that all of the tourists began going home, so he could finally get a good cup of coffee without having to wait in a ridiculously long line, thank you very much. 

The quaint coffee shop was empty, save for a group sitting in the corner and a couple on a date beside the door. There was an odd scent in the air, something that Draco could not place that crawled under his skin. There was a woman in line, too, with pin-straight red hair that fell to her shoulders. She glanced at him as the barista asked, “the usual?”, and Draco caught her shockingly green eyes; her mouth dropped open slightly, which Draco did not know what to make of.

“You,” she mumbled in an accent reminiscent of her father’s, and Draco immediately deduced that she was crazy. Their town got plenty of crazy people who passed through. Draco knew to ignore them.

He simply raised an eyebrow before turning his attention to the barista. “Yeah, the usual please.”

Draco glanced to his side as the red headed woman took a tray of coffees from the barista and began to walk towards the table in the corner. She sat down at the table and cast a wary glance at Draco before she silently cast a silencing ward around the table.

Draco stiffened. The magic in the air did not go unnoticed, and he immediately turned to face the table, eyes narrowed. His first thought was that the Death Eaters had found them, and he felt his eyes flash in warning, his pupils slimming like a cat’s. All of the eyes at the table seemed to be on him, and he stiffened as he realized what the smell was. He could smell a werewolf. 

“Fucking hell,” he announced, his voice too loud in the tiny coffee shop. These people were here to hurt his father. Normally, Draco would have acted rationally; he would have just left and gotten his father. Draco could not act rationally, though, when his father was at risk.

Draco’s brain told him to stop, but his feet seemed to ignore any instruction as they walked his body over to the booth. He grabbed a chair from a nearby table, dragging it behind him until he felt himself enter the bubble of silence surrounding the group. He stopped at the end of the booth, sitting in his chair. The beverages on the table began to rattle when Draco placed his hands on the table, his magic surfacing at his fingertips. He knew that he must have been quite the sight—his slit pupils and glowing eyes, his fingertips literally glowing with magic.

“If you think for one second that I will let you hurt my father, you’re very mistaken,” Draco opened with, allowing his eyes to scan over everyone at the table. 

There was a man with toffee skin and wild hair sitting beside the red head. Across from him sat a woman with short bubblegum colored hair and thick winged liner. Beside her was the werewolf, scars littered over his face. Next to the werewolf there was a man that caused Draco to pause; the man was very pale, and his aristocratic cheekbones, raven hair, and silver eyes were far too familiar—far too similar to his father’s.

“Oh,” he whispered, removing his fingertips from the table. “I seem to recall my dad telling you to fuck off. Can you not read?” He jibed, narrowing his eyes at the man he could only assume was Sirius Black.

“You’re even more of a joy in real life than you are in your letters,” the pink-haired woman said, grinning. “You scared me for a second, I’m not going to lie. I have never seen an angry faerie in real life.”

Draco’s eyes flickered over to her, raising a fine eyebrow. He blinked in recognition. “Tonks,” he murmured.

The woman grinned wickedly.

“While I would on any other occasion be overjoyed to finally meet you, I can’t say that I am now,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “You’re here to try and convince my dad to join your little suicide group. While I agree with what you’re fighting for, and I wish you the very best, of course, I will not let you kill my dad. Asking him to fight against Death Eaters, the very same people who he betrayed, is asking him to sign his own death sentence.”

Tonks’ grin dropped. The toffee skinned man awkwardly pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. The redhead flinched. Even the werewolf seemed to recoil.

Sirius did not seem to have much of a reaction. He hardly even blinked at Draco’s words. “I know, but he knows more about Death Eaters and dark magic than anyone else that we can trust. We will protect him and you to the best of our abilities, I promise. I’m not going to lose my brother again,” Sirius said, his steely eyes full of compassion. Draco never wanted to punch someone who looked so friendly so desperately.

“I honestly don’t give a damn whether you need him or not-.”

“Wow, Americans really do swear like sailors,” Sirius interrupted, earning a glare from the werewolf.

Draco straightened, placing his palm on the table once more. “I would hate for something unfortunate to happen to the lot of you,” he whispered, leaning in dangerously. He locked eyes with the werewolf. “The new moon is tonight. If you know anything about faeries, you would know that it is in your best interest to leave before then.” 

The wolf’s lip raised in a sneer, flashing his too long canines. Draco flashed his right back. He made eye contact with Sirius, who’s compassion had been replaced with fury. Draco met his eyes, silver meeting dark grey.

“The ministry would not take those types of threats coming from a faerie very lighthearted,” the redhead spoke, her expression dark.

Draco shrugged. “Does the ministry know about the werewolf? Or what about the two animagi—what is that,” he paused, sniffing the air, “a dog?” He locked eyes with Sirius. He turned his attention to the tan man. “Some sort of deer?” 

Belatedly, Draco heard the barista calling out his name. He stood, returning the chair to its rightful table. He paused, glancing back at the table, catching one last look at the group before taking his coffee and leaving, anxiety thrumming in his blood. He had never hated himself more than he had in that moment; he had used his condition to threaten someone, something he promised himself he would never do. He was a monster, he thought, tears welling in his eyes as he began his walk home.

The sun was beginning to set, and Draco could still smell a wolf; they had not heeded his warning, and a small part of him wanted to let his magic loose on them. The largest part of himself, though, knew that he could not let himself become a murderer. He had to beg his father to multiply the reinforcements on their cellar, where he would lock Draco for his transformations. Usually, it was just a precaution, as Draco usually did not react too strongly to the new moon; he would sprout his wings, yes, but he would not start blowing things up or running wild on a killing spree. He would usually just pour all of his energy into the plants lining the walls, watching them grow with glee. There were some faeries that had to be locked up at the new moon due to their desire for blood, and those faeries would often hurt themselves.

So Draco had to explain everything to his dad, who had wrapped Draco in a hug and then sternly told him never to make those sorts of threats again, even if Sirius had not listened to his letter. He had chained Draco’s wrists to the wall with iron shackles that he had transfigured last minute, burning to the touch but effective. Salt had been sprinkled on the floor around Draco, and the wards on the cellar had been nearly tripled in strength.

It was the longest, most painful transformation of Draco’s life. His father had found him slouched against the wall in the morning, scratches of his own making adorning his face and chest. Salt burns danced over his bare skin, and blood dripped down his arms from the deep, raw burns on his wrists.

After healing what he could with the supplies he had on hand, he quickly apparated to the alleyway behind the coffee shop, deciding that Draco would appreciate the coffee when he woke up. Part of him hoped to find his brother there so he could throttle him with his bare hands for not listening to his son, but he tuned that out as much as he could. 

That part of him was not disappointed, though, as when he walked into the shop, the corner table was taken by a group of people he had hoped he would never see again, along with one unfamiliar, younger woman with pink hair. He spared a glance towards the barista, just stating, “Draco’s usual and a chocolate muffin, please.”

He turned to the table, meeting his older brother’s eyes. He marched himself over to the table, glaring daggers at the older Black.

“When Draco told you to leave last night, you should have fucking listened,” Regulus seethed, slamming his palms on the table, his dark mark flashing as he sleeves rode up. 

Sirius furrowed his brows. “We did leave. We booked a hotel an entire two hours away by car,” he stated matter of factly. 

Regulus raised an unamused brow. “Don’t play stupid, Sirius. I had to use iron and salt on him last night to make sure he wouldn’t come and kill your sorry arses! He could still smell Lupin when the sun was going down.” He moved his eyes to Remus, snarling. “He’s never caused himself any lasting damage during his transformations up until now. I was terrified that I would find him dead this morning!” Regulus exclaimed, his vision growing foggy at the thought.

“I promise you, Reg, we left like he said,” Sirius said with a frown. 

Regulus ran a calming hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. “Unless there is suddenly another werewolf in town-,” he paused, eyes widening as his own words hit him. “No,” he whispered. “No, no, no.” He clutched his head with both of his hands.

Remus seemed to be the first one to understand, leaping out of his seat a split second after Regulus bolted from the booth, coffee forgotten.

Regulus apparated outside of his mailbox. The dark magic lingering in the air nearly suffocated him; he felt like he was going to throw up when his eyes landed on the skull and snake hovering above his house. He grasped his wand, holding it at the ready as he charged into his home, sprinting through the blasted off doorway. He thundered up the steps and his heart stopped when he found the door to his son’s room blown off the hinges, his son lying on the floor in a puddle of blood, wand in hand. 

He screamed and collapsed at his son’s side, blood soaking his pajama pants. He pulled Draco into his lap, gasping at the endless stream of blood pouring from cuts all over Draco’s limp body.

He heard his brother shouting his name, footsteps thundering up the stairs, his own screams and pleads. 

He clutched at Draco’s neck, his fingers slipping through blood as he searched for a pulse. It felt like hours that he searched for a single beat, a single sign of life. Faintly, he felt a flutter beneath his finger tips. Then another weak beat, barely noticeable. 

Regulus let out a sob of relief, clutching his son closer, never moving his fingers from that sweet, glorious pulse. 

The conversation around him that was moments ago white noise became clearer, though his focus was still on Draco. 

“We need to get him to the safe house before they decide to come back,” Sirius was saying, his hand on Regulus’ shoulder, covered in crimson. 

Regulus felt himself nodding. “The cat,” he whispered, barely audible. “His cat, get the cat.” It should have been the least of his worries, but for some strange reason he could not bear to imagine what Draco’s reaction would be if they left behind the cat.

Someone had yelled, “Accio kneazle!” and the next thing Regulus knew, they were at the Potter estate, and Lily began to work on patching up his unstable son.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry beforehand for any typos! I’m too tired to reread lol. I hope you enjoy, and please leave comments and kudos! Thank you for reading, I really appreciate it! :)

Draco relived the day again and again. For eighteen days, that day was everything, an all encompassing alternate reality that he could not escape no matter how desperately he tried. Each day began and ended the same, and he could not interfere, he could not make it stop; he was forced to watch as he tore himself up that night; he was forced to watch Greyback break into his home; he was forced to watch himself duel Greyback, practically asleep on his feet from the taxing night before.

It did not stop when he lost consciousness. He had to watch helplessly when his father found his body, letting out a sound that would haunt Draco to his dying day, a desperate, hoarse cry that shook his bones with the intensity and raw emotion behind it. He had to watch as the red headed woman—Lily, he learned—worked tirelessly at healing him, a task that seemed impossible with the amounts of dark magic coursing through his veins. 

He had been hit with the Killing Curse, yet he was not dead. For once in his life, he was grateful for his faerie blood.

He had to watch again and again, from midnight to midnight, never resting. He knew every minuscule detail of that day. He stopped being surprised by Greyback’s entrance. That pit in his stomach he felt every time he watched himself nearly bleed to death had subsided to a barely-there feeling of nausea. He memorized the faces of everyone who rushed in and out of the room that Lily worked on him in. There was Sirius, of course, and his father, who was there constantly at his side. The toffee-skinned man with glasses—James—who sat in silence, handing Lily the tools and potions she needed whenever necessary. Tonks left and came back with Andromeda, who had come to comfort Regulus, but had to leave for a while to compose herself after seeing Draco’s torn body. There was a very old man with a long white beard and half-moon glasses that Draco recognized from his history classes: Albus Dumbledore. At one point, for only a few brief seconds, a plump, red headed woman apparated into the room with two boys that looked to be close to his own age—a lanky, freckled redhead boy and a stalkier boy with round glasses and toffee skin, a near exact replica of James. Alongside the two older boys, there was a blue haired boy and a toffee-skinned girl with long, dark curls, both of which looked to be thirteen or so. Once the woman took in the situation, though, she rushed the boys out of the room. Draco did not learn their names.

Anything there was to know about that day, Draco knew, so when a strange door appeared on a previously barren wall, Draco was surprised, to say the least. He had walked to the door, ignoring Lily’s shouts that he had grown accustomed to over the past weeks. He twisted the handle gently, and the floor went out from beneath his feet.

He jolted awake with a gasp. His hands clutched at the sheets beneath him, finally feeling something real and corporal. Cautiously, he pushed himself into a sitting position, glancing around the scarcely lit room, a bedside lamp being the only illumination in the small room. With a soft grunt, he swung his feet over the side of the bed; someone had put a pair of soft, fuzzy socks on his feet, and he wore a pair of flannel pajama pants that were baggy on his lanky legs. He had also been dressed in an obviously well-worn Gryffindor tee. He had not considered the fact that they had to leave without any of Draco’s clothes.

Draco’s bones popped in protest as he forced himself into a standing position. He winced as he lifted his arms over his head, stretching. 

He pressed his palm against the wall as he limped down a long hall with warm orange walls and pictures of smiling people covering nearly every available inch of free space.

Only one door was open in the entire hallway, so Draco made his way towards that one, wistfully hoping it would be his dad’s room. He peeked his head around the doorway, eyes wandering the dimly lit room. The mini-James sat on a large bed, laying on top of the thick, patchwork quilt covering the mattress. He seemed to be reading some sort of textbook—Hogwarts, a History. Softly, ‘Goodbye Yellow Brick Road’ played in the background; mini-James had great music taste, then.

Draco knew he probably shouldn’t interrupt the boy’s studying, but frankly, if he didn’t sit down soon, he would probably pass out in this boy’s doorway, which would be even more distracting. 

He gripped the doorway shakily, stepping into the cozy room. Mini-James immediately looked up from his book, clumsily pushing his glasses up the bridge of his slightly crooked nose. His eyes seemed to widen at the sight of Draco standing in his doorway; Draco knew he probably looked like a walking corpse, but really, he couldn’t look that terrifying.

“Oh, uhm, hi,” mini-James said, his voice lower than he expected. “You’re the one my mom thinks is going to die,” he mumbled, lacking any better conversation starters. 

Draco snorted, but immediately regretted his actions as his vision momentarily went black and he swayed dangerously on his feet. Draco was not sure when mini-James got up, but he was there, catching Draco before he could hit the ground.

“Shit, that was close,” Draco mumbled drowsily. He really needed to sit down. The boy seemed to understand, as he guided Draco to the bed, helping him sit down. Draco wheezed when the boy’s hand pressed against one of the deeper slices in his side, eyes squeezing shut in pain. 

“Fuck, sorry,” he murmured, drawing his hand away as though he had touched a hot stove. “I’ll go get my mom,” he began, “are you alright to stay here?”

Draco pushed himself back against the headboard. He pursed his lips. “I just needed to sit down, really. She’ll just force me back to the room I was staying in, and if you don’t mind, I would much rather stay in here for a little while; there isn’t any Elton John in my room.” Draco didn’t mention that part of the reason he didn’t want to go back to his rooms was because he was ridiculously afraid of being alone after being so alone for the past eighteen days. 

Mini-James seemed to think about this carefully, and while he thought, Draco studied him much closer. This close, he looked so much different than James; his cheekbones were sharper, his skin a shade lighter, his eyelashes longer, and his eyes a vivid emerald green that Draco could only assume he had gotten from Lily. He was really quite handsome, Draco thought belatedly.

“I suppose that’s okay. My mom might kill both of us, though,” he said, cracking a small grin. He went around to the other side of the bed, hopping onto the opposite end to face Draco. He carelessly tossed the book he was reading onto the floor, and Draco internally cringed at the treatment of the book.

“So, do you have a name, or will I just have to keep calling you mini-James in my head,” Draco asked, quirking up the corner of his lip. 

“Harry,” he said. He seemed to be waiting for something to click in Draco’s head, but there really was not much special about the name. It was a nice name, but Draco had met at least five other Harrys in his lifetime.

“That’s much better than mini-James.” Draco shrugged, and then winced, as even shrugging made his body ache.

Harry grinned, and Draco ignored the way his stomach fluttered. 

“So, I noticed the book you were reading; are you a Hogwarts student?” Draco asked.

Harry nodded, his unruly curls falling in front of his face. “I’m going into sixth year,” he said. His eyes flickered to Draco’s shirt, and he seemed to bite at the inside of his cheek. “That’s actually one of my shirts from school; I’m surprised it fit you,” Harry paused, eyes widening. “Not that I’m calling you fat! You’re definitely not! I’m just saying I’m surprised because, well, uhm, you’re rather tall, and I’m quite short—yeah, exactly, yeah, I’ll shut up now,” he rambled, his dark skin flushing faintly. He scratched at the back of his neck. His eyes flashed to the door, and the tinge of red faded from his skin as he met his mother’s eyes. 

Draco had expected Lily to be furious, yet she appeared to be watching Harry fondly, all anger fading. 

“Hi mom,” Harry mumbled, his hand still scratching at the back of his neck. 

The corner of Lily’s lip curled up into a smirk, and Draco blinked, confused. “Hello love,” she replied, making her way into his room. Her gaze shifted to Draco, just as soft as it had been moments before when she watched her son. She sat on the bed next to Harry, diagonal from Draco.

“How long have you been up?” Lily asked Draco, leaning forward on her palms. In that moment, Draco realized how wrong he was to call Harry mini-James, as Harry had just as many similarities to Lily as he did to James. 

“About fifteen minutes,” Draco replied. His hand palmed idly at his throat, which had begun to sting as he spoke. He cleared his throat. “My dad, is he okay?” Draco questioned, chewing nervously on his chapped lower lip.

“He’ll be much better knowing you’re up. He should be back soon. He was visiting Andromeda for dinner; Sirius and Remus had to practically drag him out of the house,” Lily said. “I was coming to tell Harry that dinner is ready, but I’ll have James bring it up here with Arya and Teddy. Do you like curry, Draco?”

The mention of food had Draco’s stomach rumbling. The reality that he hadn’t eaten in eighteen days hit him hard. “Absolutely,” he replied hoarsely.

Lily winced at the sound of Draco’s hoarse voice. “I’ll get you a potion and some tea for that. It’s almost time for your potions, anyways. Chamomile?” She stood up from the bed, dusting off her jeans. 

“Do you have any mint?” He asked. 

She paused, thinking, but nodded shortly after. “I’ll be right back.” She left the room, sending one last glance back at Harry, who’s cheeks reddened once more in response.

“Who are Arya and Teddy?” Draco knew who James was, of course, but he did not know who Arya or Teddy were.

“Arya is my little sister and Teddy is like my cousin, in a way, since he is Sirius and Remus’ son. They’re always attached at the hip since they’re both in the same year and they got sorted into the same house,” Harry explained, smiling fondly. “They’re bloody menaces, though. If they get to be too much, let me know, and I’ll have my mom send them to eat in the dining room; you look like you’re about to fall asleep sitting up,” he said sincerely.

Draco felt his cheeks burn at the concern in Harry’s voice. He was saved from the embarrassment of Harry noticing, though, as two figures raced into the room, carrying silverware and plates. 

“Slow down before you gouge your eyes out,” Lily shouted, her voice echoing from the hall. 

The blue-haired boy stopped, shouting a reply of, “Sorry, Aunt Lils!”

“He’s not really sorry,” the girl shouted, earning a threatening jab of a fork from the boy. “Oi!”

Harry rolled his eyes. 

The girl’s eyes landed on Draco, and her eyes widened. “I call sitting next to Draco!” She exclaimed, pushing Teddy out of the way to run over to the bed.

Catching Draco’s eyes, which probably looked vaguely frightened, Harry swiftly moved from his position at the bottom of the bed to the top of the bed, beside Draco. Draco felt his shoulders relax.

“Awe, you’re no fun, Harry,” Arya complained, standing next to the bed. 

James came into the room, hovering an array of pots and cups in front of him along with a collapsible table. His eyes landed on Draco, and he grinned, waving cheerily. His attention shifted to Arya, Harry, and Teddy, and he breathed out a huff. “You guys need to chill out before you scare poor Draco back into a coma,” he joked, earning a smack on the back of the head from Lily, who came in behind him hovering a tray of potions and a mug of tea. 

“Don’t joke about that,” Lily admonished, glaring at her husband. She shifted Harry’s nightstand forward a few inches and removed the lamp, using the nightstand as a table for the shocking amount of potions he had to take. 

Dinner was a somewhat chaotic affair full of Arya blatantly ogling Draco, Teddy explaining his favorite muggle movie to Draco, who listened despite having already watched the movie, James nearly getting wine drunk, and Harry watching Draco almost constantly, waiting for any sign of Draco growing annoyed or becoming too tired.

At the end of dinner, when Draco nearly began dozing off, a shout from some other room within the house jolted him awake.

“Oi! Where’s everybody at?” 

James bolted from his spot on the bed, nearly tripping over Arya and Teddy on the floor. He ran into the hallway, and bellowed, “We’re all in Harry’s room, my darling little Padfoot!”

Draco stood up, his bones cracking in protest. He placed his empty plate where he previously had sat, and he began limping to the hallway, the short walk even more painful than the walk to the room had been. 

Lily was behind Draco in an instant, placing a gentle hand between his shoulder blades. “Careful,” she whispered, helping him foreword.

He stood in the hallway a distance behind James, who had opted to run down the hall to stand at the top of the staircase, leaning on the rails as a set of footsteps thundered up the stairs. Sirius grinned wickedly at James, and his grin only widened when he turned and saw Draco standing in the middle of the hallway, alive. 

Momentarily, he turned back to the stairs, yelling in a sing-song voice, “Reg, you should hurry up, there’s a surprise for you!”

“Bugger off, Sirius, I’m not in the mood for your shit.”

Draco limped to the end of the hallway eagerly, smiling at Sirius before peering over the edge of the rail. He felt a hand grip the back of his shirt, and he glanced back, meeting Harry’s eyes. He turned back to the rail, keeping his hands on the edge. The moment he met his father’s eyes, he felt dizzy, and he was grateful for Harry’s hand preventing him from falling over the edge.

His father’s mouth fell open silently before he apparated the rest of the way up the stairs. He wrapped Draco in a hug that made his bruised ribs ache, but Draco hugged him back just as tightly, arching his neck down to press his face into the crook of his father’s neck. A sob escaped his lips, and he gripped his father harder, his hands clutching the back of his shirt. 

“I missed you so much,” his father whispered against the side of Draco’s head, his voice wavering. 

They stayed like that until Draco’s body gave into his fatigue, snoring against his father’s neck, alive and well.


End file.
